The Sick Season has begun

[kandrathe]

My uncle fought in the south pacific during WWII. One of his stories was in taking one island that was rife with snipers. The leader of his platoon was a very tall and stocky fellow, and either suicidal or incredibly brave. In one day while he was spotting snipers, he was shot 6 times and none were serious enough for him to consider leaving his platoon. They were all grazes or shallow tissue hits, one through his right cheek while he was shouting an order. From what I surmised from my uncles attitude was that during that time, when you saw so much carnage and death around, you felt lucky to be merely grazed. No one was there for the ribbons, and they were happy to get the job done and get home. His opinion was that it was the ones who jumped off the landing craft first and got gunned down who were the real heroes.